The Zenith of Eyes
by ThorHammer17
Summary: The Champion of Cyrodiil investigates the mysterious circumstances surrounding the disappearance of the Nerevarine, only to discover shocking facts about both the Nerevarine and himself. I dare you to read it and then review it. I bet you can't.


Disclaimer: I don't own Oblivion. I just p0wn AT the game.

Chapter 1: The Nerevarine and the Champion

"_Go to the Jerall Mountains, well north of Cloud Ruler Temple," _the old witch had said,_ "past the Tomb in the Valley-of-the-Mountains. From there, go east, and you shall find what you seek. The Nerevarine will meet you there, in Shadowbreath Cavern."_

Now, after a week's journey later, Odinethor, the Champion himself, raised his head to the sky in accomplishment. Leaving Cyrodiil had been more difficult than any other aspect of this journey, to be certain. Raminus Polus couldn't have been more anal about taking responsibility for the safe operations of the Mages Guild, and Modryn Oryen was suspicious as to where exactly the Master of the Fighters Guild planned to go on his own.

The Champion, being the Altmer that he was, left anyway. Doubtless, Ysabel would rip him a new one for depriving the people of the Angel of Death upon his return, but he cared little for the petty consequences of people, especially after meddling in the affairs of Daedra, Divines, and serving the Dread Lord Sithis. At least the darker side of Cyrodiil could take care of itself. He doubted that the Thieves Guild would even notice his absence, most likely due to the magical properties of the Cowl.

After convincing all parties of his certain safe return, and leaving the management of his Plane of Oblivion to Haskill, Odinethor had made his way across the backcountry areas between Bruma and the Imperial City he had come to know so well.

A master acrobat, he made his way up and down the steep mountainous slopes with ease, stopping only to catch a breath every now and again. The road, however, was free of bandits and most other obstacles, though such free paths did have a cost. The wild animals of the region were particularly fierce, though they posed no challenge to his shadow blade, Umbra, which had been his since he took it from its previous slave.

Most importantly, however, the areas in which he had traveled offered escape from the numerous admirers and hopeful understudies. They only got in his way. He preferred the renewable resource of Daedra, who came only when called upon, and did not seek his friendship. Plus, they were easy to handle, after summoning them for so long. There wasn't a daedra he couldn't summon, short of a Prince. The Champion of Cyrodiil did not dole out friendship quickly, and certainly not for free. And he definitely did not give his friendship to any yellow-haired, hershey-capped, fairy elf who sought to follow him, merely for the sake of licking his boots. The fool deserved his entrapment in Dagon's realm.

But now, he was finally here, the one place where he would meet the only man who may prove a challenge to his power. The Nerevarine, too, was blessed by Divines and Daedra alike, and had accumulated a powerful store of weapons and armor from friends and others who repaid favors from him on the island of Vvardenfell. This all appeared to happen about a year ago. Then, as soon as he had come, the great hero of Morrowind had disappeared.

The Champion, now with access to contacts all over Cyrodiil and elsewhere in the world, noticed a strange series of coincidences that had occurred at about the same time as his arrest. First, the Emperor had been killed by the Mythic Dawn cult. This, occurring immediately after the near-rebellion in Morrowind, had caused quite an uproar in the government. It was only by the Champion's intervention that the Drothmeri army had been stopped. He had single-handedly ended their entire operation, before it even began. However, had the Nerevarine been present, the whole mess would probably not have even occurred in the first place.

Odinethor found this string of coincidences too improbable to ignore, so he had begun an investigation, with surprising results: No one, it seemed, in any province, knew where to find the Neverarine. Few even knew his name. Some said that he had traveled to Cyrodiil, and was residing there. Others said that he had apotheosized, not unlike Tiber Septim. Odinethor did not think so, and his intuition, as usual, proved quite insightful. He did find signs of the man, and of his passage, but he could not find the man himself. Until now.

The cave was a foreboding old ruin, one of the most ancient Dunmer tombs he had ever seen. He stood outside for a moment, taking in everything around him outside of the cave. He had been the subject of more than one ambush upon exiting a dungeon, and he did his best not to fall prey to them. He slid open the door, looked around to make sure he was not followed by any creatures, intelligent or otherwise, and closed the stone slab shut behind him.

His fully enchanted Daedric armor, as heavy as the kind he had worn since he first escaped the Mythic Dawn in the sewers, made no noise as he crept stealthily down the passages of the dungeon. After casting a detect life spell, he sensed nothing, even within fifty feet, and he began to grow suspicious. There seemed to be no traps, either, but the dungeon was active. It was as though someone was watching him, and the Champion did not like being watched. His collection of weapons was to be feared.

The tomb looked regular enough, but the entire dungeon was odd, though not in the fashion of the Shivering Isles. For example, there were plenty of graves, but no bodies. There were caskets, but no remains of the dead. There were offering holders, but no gold placed in respect for the dead ancestors. This lack of gold would normally not be too surprising, but there were also no signs of thieves or other bandits looting the tomb. The urns that normally held the treasures of the deceased Dunmer were completely empty, untouched since their arrival.

Odinethor made his way deeper into the tomb, going down seven levels, all the while looking for signs of anything that pointed to recent inhabitation or use, but he saw nothing. Then, at the end of the seventh floor, he noticed something promising: an out of place, crystal-lined door, made of a light blue material not unlike glass or amber, but one that he did not recognize. As he walked toward the door, the iridescent pane slid out of his way with a hiss. The door opened into a gigantic room, possibly the largest he had ever been in. It was unadorned, purely stone, and perfectly rectangular, save a small object on the opposite wall.

The item was a mirror. It, like the door, was trimmed in a crystalline substance, and various gems encrusted its outside. Odinethor peered closely at it, and then time seemed to freeze as the mirror began to spit fire from the gems in the outside, blasting flames into the air around them. A powerful voice echoed both in the room and in his mind.

"_You who seek the truth! Speak your mind, and it shall be known."_

The Champion glared with the intensity of a man who has endured incredible hardships and survived, and become the strongest of all.

"Show me the Nerevarine!"

The surface of the mirror rippled. A bright, piercing light engulfed the room, emitting from the mirror. Then, the light died down, and the mirror, still very much magically animated and alive with flames, showed the most astonishing thing Odinethor had ever seen. The mirror showed his own body. Not his reflection, but him, from behind. He immediately drew his bow, as the onlooker obviously was up near the top of the high-cielinged room. He looked around and aimed, but no targets were forthcoming. He restrapped his bow and took a deep breath, trying to understand what the mirror meant.


End file.
